


My Shellhead (the Auction-bot remix)

by ChibiSquirt



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/pseuds/ChibiSquirt
Summary: Steve puts himself up for auction.  Tony makes sure he's the highest bidder.





	My Shellhead (the Auction-bot remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Steve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10460778) by [kdm103020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdm103020/pseuds/kdm103020). 
  * In response to a prompt by [kdm103020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdm103020/pseuds/kdm103020) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018) collection. 



> Okay, the fic that inspired this was super cute! You should definitely read it. I changed the universe to 616 (ish... I'm not so great at 616 canon, so if you spot a foible, please feel free to tell me!), early on so I could swan around with identity porn. 
> 
> Cluegirl was gracious enough to beta, although I added a big chunk after she got done, so as always, any errors are mine.

Tony gritted his teeth into something like a smile and held up his card again.  

“That’s two seventy-three to number oh-four-three-zero-one, do I hear two seventy-four?”  The Auctioneer-bot’s voice was mechanical, but still as quick as a traditional auctioneer’s.  For ambience, Tony had said when he designed the thing.  He was regretting that decision a  _ lot  _ right now.

When he had agreed to throw the Avengers charity auction,  _ people  _ hadn’t even been on the list of goods.  There was some of his old armor prototypes, carefully divested of any really interesting tech before donation; some of his Cap merchandise collection; and a few other things, thrown in by the team.  But then Jan had volunteered to tailor a whole outfit for someone, and Thor—damn him—had mentioned the date-an-Avenger option—where had he even  _ heard  _ about that idea?!—and Cap had grinned and joined in the fun.

“Come on, Shellhead, we should both sign up!”  

“I really doubt anybody’s going to be interested in sitting across from a tin can,” Tony had snarked, rapping one gauntlet against his helmet with a metallic clang.  “Can’t exactly go on a date without revealing my identity, can I?”

Then he immediately felt guilty for the way Cap’s face had fallen.  

“But I tell you what,” he added hastily, “I’ll get Mr. Stark to design something specifically for the auction, how about that?”  And two days later, Tony had cobbled together the Auctioneer-bot as his and Iron Man’s contribution.  

But he must have designed the damned thing too well, because now the only auction Tony cared about—the one for a date with Cap—was  _ still going,  _ over a hundred thousand dollars ahead of the next highest item.  And, damn it, that fancy-pants lawyer from midtown had just bid  _ another  _ thousand dollars!

Tony showed his card, and the bot raised the total again.  

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”  

It was later, the two of them getting ready to retire to their rooms.  Steve had shucked the Captain America uniform he had worn to the party in favor of slacks and a t-shirt that stretched tightly across his chest and shoulders.  Tony had lost his jacket and tie somewhere.  Also his shoes and socks, but he knew where those had gone; he’d toed them off while he was getting himself a nightcap, and had never put them back on again.  Oh, well; Jarvis would find all of his meandering clothes and bring them back, eventually...

“Didn’t have to do what?”

“Bid on me like that.”  Steve was blushing, a pretty sort of delicate pink that Tony hadn’t realized was actually naturally occurring.  He had thought that particular shade came only out of bottles and palettes, before.  

“It was my pleasure,” Tony said, smiling.  “I figure, you and Iron Man are good friends, anyway; you two can just hang out for the day, and I’ll tell people I gave it to him.”

Steve looked, very briefly, disappointed, and then his face hardened, resolve shining through.  He stepped closer to Tony, who tried to step back again but ran into his own closed bedroom door.  

“You don’t have to do that, either,” Steve said.  

“Do what?” Tony blurted, as natural as blocking a punch.  

“Give it away.”  Steve smiled resolutely.  “I think you seem like a pretty...”  His voice trailed off, his eyes rounding in desperation as he obviously tried, and failed, to think of an adjective to modify.  “...smart!  A pretty  _ smart  _ guy.  And I’d be thri—honored, I’d be honored, to go out on a date with you.”

The hallway was long and silent once Steve had stopped speaking.  Tony stared at him.  “...for charity,” he filled in.  “You’d be honored to go on a date with me  _ for charity.”   _

Steve’s face fell, but the resolute set of his shoulders remained.  He opened his mouth twice only to close it again.  Finally, he just said, “...No,” his voice as defeated as Tony had ever heard it.

“...No?”  It stung a little, honestly.  Tony had hoped there, for just one second... but—

“Not for charity,” Steve said.  He sounded terrified, but the words were still coming out of his mouth.  “Not for... anything, really.  For you.  I’d like to get to know  _ you.”   _ He coughed.  “I’d like to get  _ closer.   _ To you.”

Tony blinked.  There was really no mistaking his meaning on that.  Was there?

“But Iron Man—”

Steve took another step closer, reaching out to curve one hand around Tony’s upper arm.  Tony watched, fascinated, as Steve squeezed, gently, lightly denting the thick muscle of Tony’s bicep.  “I don’t think you need a bodyguard when you’re on a date with Captain America...” 

Something in his voice caused Tony to look up, meeting his eyes, which were very blue and very, very gentle.  Steve smiled at Tony, delight lighting his handsome face, and squeezed again before letting go.  

“...do you?”

_ He knows,  _ Tony thought.   _ Wait, does he?  How could he?   _ (His mind helpfully supplied a laundry list of ways he could possible have slipped up.)   _ Well, he  _ could— _ but  _ does  _ he?  What if Steve thinks he’s asking out Tony and doesn’t know about Iron Man?  What if Steve  _ thinks  _ he’s asking out Iron Man, and doesn’t realize I’ll have to be Tony for this?  What do I do?  What do I  _ do???

Tony cleared his throat and pasted on a smile.  No way out but forward, right?  “I guess I don’t. Pick you up at seven, Cap?”

“Sounds good!  Good night, Tony.”  Steve beamed at him and stepped back.  Tony took the opportunity to smile more genuinely before slipping through his bedroom door, bare feet almost silent as he eased the door shut again.  

Once it was closed, he turned, putting his back to it and tipping back his head.  His eyes drifted shut as he banged his head twice, lightly, against the hardwood.  Then he stilled again, gazing sightlessly around the ornate luxury of the bedroom he hardly ever used. 

God, what an idiot he was!  Anyone else gearing up for a date with Steve—with  _ Steve!— _ would be counting their blessings and possibly also buying a lottery ticket, and here he was, trying to figure out what Steve knew about his secret identity!   _ That’s the problem with being a futurist,  _ he thought bitterly.   _ You have to live in the future...  _  “Good night, Winghead,” he whispered sadly to himself as he heard the latch of Steve’s door click open. 

Steve’s door slammed shut again.  A second later, the door behind Tony shook as someone—it had to be Steve, right?—pounded on it.  

Tony swung around and answered, not wanting to wake the whole place.  “Steve,  _ what—” _

Steve’s eyes were bright and he surged into the room like he was storming it.  “Tony—” he said,  _ “Shellhead.”   _

Tony opened his mouth to deny it, but didn’t get the chance before Steve had stepped right into his arms.  Steve cupped his face in his hands and leaned in.  For one second Tony thought he was about to be kissed, and then Steve changed direction at the last moment, pressing his lips to Tony’s forehead, instead.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to hope for more than a second, because he knew there was no way this was going to end well for him.  But he still couldn’t help feeling it, anyway, a tiny nudge of optimism.  It crept into the corners of his eyes and mouth, and he could feel them trying to tip up, up...

He sighed and opened his mouth again.  Steve covered it with his hand.  

“Don’t,” he said.  “Just—don’t say anything.  Nod or shake your head:  are we still going out on a date tomorrow?  Seven o’clock, you said.”

Tony felt the grin spreading over his face, hope impossibly winning out.  He nodded vigorously, and then had to remember again how to stop nodding.  He tried to think of something to say and drew a blank.  “I’m... sorry I forgot your super-hearing?” 

“I’m not.”  Steve kissed his forehead again and the dropped his hands away, slowly, like he didn’t want to.  “Tomorrow at seven,” he repeated, and then smiled brightly.  “Good thing you won that date, after all, Tony.”

“Well, you know.”  Tony  _ couldn’t stop smiling.   _ He felt dazed with glee.  “It’s for a good cause.”


End file.
